


(Safe) Words

by leashy_bebes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leashy_bebes/pseuds/leashy_bebes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine uses his safeword. Modern AU.</p><p>(Apparently this is a 'verse now. More to come, probably.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Eldee for the beta.
> 
> Contains BDSM, mention of breathplay, past non-con choking, irresponsible scening (from an off-screen OC) and safewording, obviously. Mainly this is a post-scene scene.

Merlin jolts to a stop. Because that wasn't a groan, or a harder, or even a no-no- _fuck_. It wasn't even a slow down. It was Gwaine's safeword, quiet but clear, it was a _fucking stop_. So Merlin stops. And he's not sure what to do, has never been in this situation before and is, for a second, completely terrified. But whatever he's feeling it's got to be ten times worse for Gwaine, and that shakes Merlin into remembering his responsibilities. He lifts his hand from the back of Gwaine's neck, drops the flogger onto the bed.

"Alright," Merlin says. "I'm getting the key."

It's in the bedside table because Gwaine likes it out of sight but Merlin likes it close to hand. He fumbles with the drawer handle twice – his first indicator that his palms are sweaty, his hands shaking.

"Okay," he says. "Alright, it's okay, I'm – I've got the key right here, see?" He continues talking in soft reassuring murmurs while he frees Gwaine's wrists, not sure whether he should rub away the soreness like he usually would. He's not sure what had to bring the scene to an end, so he's not sure whether wrapping his hand around Gwaine's wrist is such a good idea. He strokes his fingertips down the back of Gwaine's arm instead, just a quick touch before he undoes the blindfold too.

"There," he says. "Done."

Silence.

"Gwaine?"

He keeps his face down and it muffles his voice when he says, "I just need a minute."

"I – are you sure? Can I – help?"

"We'll talk," Gwaine promises, turning his head towards Merlin but still not looking at him.

"Alright," Merlin says. "Take as long as you need, okay?"

Gwaine nods against the pillow.

Merlin steps out of the room and closes the door quietly behind himself. His stomach drops and he makes his way blindly through the flat to the living room. He sits down on the edge of the sofa and lets out a shuddering breath. He feels wretched. That word from Gwaine's mouth seems to have fractured something in Merlin and the sharp edges are churning around inside him.

Gwaine is by far the best thing that has ever happened to Merlin. He's intelligent and gorgeous and funny, likes the same things as Merlin, with enough differences between them to keep things fresh and exciting. And Merlin has been consistently, thrillingly surprised by how well their bedroom desires match up too. It's been like a dream that's halfway between paradise and terrifying, because Merlin's never had that before, never found anyone who was lover and sub all at the same time. They've always been separate for him, but there was no hope of maintaining that with Gwaine. Beautiful Gwaine, who at first glance is as far as it's possible to get from being a sub, who radiates strength in every act of submission, who makes Merlin's heart pound and his breath catch, makes him feel like the luckiest bastard in the world.

And now, he can't deny it, he is terrified that he's fucked that up beyond repair. Realistically Merlin knows that the trust would have been broken if he _hadn't_ stopped, but he can't help feeling disappointed in himself anyway, and sets to replaying the whole scene in his mind, searching for clues that he missed when he was caught up in the moment, little non-verbal tics that should have alerted him to it. Maybe if he'd checked in with Gwaine more frequently, more thoroughly... He can't think of anything they haven't done before though, and gets up from the sofa in a sudden rush, feeling antsy.

In the kitchen he looks longingly at the bottle of whisky in the cupboard, just a glass, just to settle his nerves, but _no booze when they're scening_ is one of his own rules. He can't go breaking his own rules, even if the scene is technically over, drawn to an abrupt halt by a whisper and then a firmer statement, _red, red!_ Merlin rubs his hands over his face and switches the kettle on instead. He makes himself a cup of tea and carries it back to the living room.

He sits down and switches on the TV, only to flick it over to the rolling news and hit the mute button. He just needs something, anything, to be happening in the background while he waits. He meant it when he told Gwaine to take as long as he wanted, but that doesn't mean he can't feel the weight of each minute ticking past.

When Gwaine eventually emerges from the bedroom he's wearing jeans and one of Merlin's t-shirts. Something twists in Merlin's throat and he wonders desperately whether that means anything other than that it was the closest item of clothing to hand. Gwaine looks up at him, meeting his eye for the first time since they started the scene.

"I'm sorry," they say, within a split-second of each other.

There's still a certain soft dazedness in Gwaine's eyes and in the tight flicker of his smile so Merlin's gentle but firm as he says, "Come here."

Gwaine crosses the room and makes to kneel in front of the sofa.

"No, hey, don't. I want you to sit next to me, if that's okay?"

Gwaine nods and curls himself onto the sofa next to Merlin.

"Are you sore?" Merlin asks, his hands itching to check Gwaine over and see for himself.

"No," Gwaine says. "S'fine."

And Merlin believes him. They'd barely got started when the word slipped out. He'd only been warming Gwaine up, light strokes that shouldn't – couldn't – have caused him any real pain. However hard he tries, Merlin doesn't think he'll ever be able to un-hear that low murmur.

"Would it bother you if I held your hand?" Merlin asks, working hard to keep his voice even. He shouldn't be hurt by Gwaine safe-wording, but it does make him feel a little vulnerable, like he did something wrong, all unknowing.

Gwaine grins at him and grabs Merlin's hand in his own, locking their fingers together. "Not at all," he says, and Merlin smiles back, relaxing a little, lifting Gwaine's hand to his mouth and kissing it.

"So," Merlin says. "I don't really know where to start. At the least though, I need you to tell me what it was I did that made you need the safeword."

Gwaine nods and takes a few deep breaths. Merlin knows the gesture well. It is Gwaine calming himself, centring himself. Merlin just waits, holding Gwaine's hand loosely.

"I just – you know how it is when you're starting out. I was...naive," Gwaine says after a few moments, picking the word carefully. "There's always someone willing to take advantage of a stupid kid who doesn't know his own limits."

Merlin feels a curl of protective anger at that image – young, beautiful Gwaine, smooth-faced and innocent-eyed, feeling his way through his desire to submit, and some complete _bastard_ pushing it too far in search of his own pleasure, not giving a fuck that obedience is possibly the most precious gift anyone could ever receive.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Gwaine rubs the back of his neck and drops his eyes. "Breathplay."

Merlin wants to scream. Wants to fucking tear the world apart looking for the no-dick piece of shit who did this. Because they've done that a few times, and Gwaine has always loved it but there is a world of fucking difference between carefully planned breathplay and non consensually _choking_ someone. He owes it to Gwaine to keep his head though, and carefully relaxes his white-knuckled grip on Gwaine's hand.

"It was your hand," Gwaine says. "Your hand on the back of my neck. Not usually, but with my face in the pillows like that, and my hands above my head – it just...not the memory I wanted it to evoke."

Merlin nods carefully. "Did you safeword? With that guy?" he asks, feeling like he already knows the answer.

"I – " Gwaine breaks off with a half-shrug. "Not exactly. I tried to get him to – you know, dial it down a little. He just... He made me feel like I'd fucked up, you know?"

Merlin fucking _hates_ people like that. There's little worse about the scene than people who use it that way.

"I will never do that to you," Merlin promises, surprised when Gwaine laughs.

"Merlin." He sounds so affectionate, so incongruously pleased. "Don't you think I know that? Do you think we'd have got this far if I didn't?"

"I – "

"I'm not that kid anymore," Gwaine tells him. "It was just a memory that hit at the worst possible moment."

Merlin nods. "Gotcha. Well. We'll just – I'll make sure we don't get into a situation like that again."

"I know."

And just like that, what was fractured becomes whole again and Merlin feels soft warmth filling him. Gwaine _trusts_ him. Trusts him to know what to do, and trusts him to stop if he ever makes a mistake in that.

Merlin curls Gwaine into his arms and Gwaine comes without protest, leaning his head against Merlin's shoulder and humming happily as Merlin starts stroking through his hair.

"I'm – " Gwaine says a bit later and Merlin shushes him.

"Please don't apologise, Gwaine. There's really no need."

"I feel like maybe I should have told you."

"Gwaine. It could have happened any time, or it could have never happened at all. It's just...one of those things." He rubs his fingertips over Gwaine's temple in a way that always soothes him and goes on, "I don't want you to feel like you can't tell me things, but at the same time I don't want you to feel like you _have_ to tell me everything. What were you gonna do? Give me a run-down of every time you've ever scened?"

"No. Well...no. Okay. Alright."

Gwaine relaxes into him a little more, and Merlin cranes his head and kisses the top of Gwaine's head. He trails his hand up and down Gwaine's side, over his ribs and around to the small of his back.

"Love you," he says. "Love you so much."

He feels Gwaine's smile before Gwaine turns his head and kisses Merlin through his shirt. "Love you, too."

As time passes they gradually slide lower on the sofa, Merlin keeping Gwaine cuddled in close, feeling the soft rhythm of his heartbeat. Merlin still feels a little shaken, like some sort of disaster has only been narrowly averted, but as their breathing synchronises the feeling leaches away and Merlin feels unspeakably proud of them both, affection for Gwaine swelling inside him until he thinks he could burst.


	2. A Force When We're Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a few months before (Safe) Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for D/s, bondage, painplay with paddle and flogger.

Gwaine has something ugly inside him. It's not a problem most of the time; he's pretty sure everyone has it, or something like it. But there are times when it gets too much, like an itch under his skin. It reminds him of being a teenager, before he fell into the scene via a drop-dead-gorgeous older woman whose taste for spanking went a bit deeper than Gwaine realised at the time. He remembers being like this all the time, irritable and testy and unable to see good in himself, let alone the rest of the world.

His temper bubbles up under the surface, escaping in curt replies and a permanent, unintentional scowl on his face. He can _see_ it happening, can feel the cool touch of Merlin's disappointment, but he can't stop himself. It's different with Merlin, and up until now, it's been better-different. But now all he can see is good in Merlin and bad in himself and he's almost afraid to bring this to Merlin, this dark thrumming thing in the back of his mind, for fear of...tainting him, or something equally stupid. Even through the heavy weight of his moods, Gwaine's aware enough to wonder if this is going to be a problem, this gap in his trust.

Because the bald truth is that while he might tell himself it's to keep Merlin away from all things unpleasant – natural instinct, no changing that – it's more like – if he goes to Merlin with this, it will be to say _help me. Fix this. Take it away. Make it quiet, just for a while_. Which leaves him wide open to the secret fear that maybe Merlin won't, can't, doesn't think Gwaine is worth fixing. He shouldn't assume, shouldn't take that choice out of Merlin's hands, but the doubt is there nonetheless.

"Will you just relax?" Merlin demands, after Gwaine has turned up tense and irritable for the second time in a week.

They're sitting on the sofa at Merlin's flat, which – normally Merlin's flat, full up to the rafters with his presence, is Gwaine's favourite place to be. Tonight he feels anxious and edgy, like his skin is a size too small for his body.

"Can't," Gwaine snaps, his voice unintentionally sharp.

Merlin's on him inside a heartbeat, leaning over him, thumb and forefinger hard on either side of Gwaine's jaw, nails digging in just a fraction. Gwaine lets out a breath and his eyes fall closed. He can feel the stillness spreading through Merlin, that special kind of stillness.

"You only have to ask," Merlin says, gently reproachful. "When you need it, you only have to ask."

"Please," Gwaine says immediately. "Please, just – I need you to – "

"What?" Merlin asks, sliding his hand from Gwaine's jaw to his hair, grabbing a handful and tugging hard. "What do you need?"

"That," Gwaine gasps out, "That, that. Hurt me, make it quiet, just – _please_."

There's a silence and then Merlin releases his grip on Gwaine's hair.

"Go into the bedroom," he says. "Shut the curtains, take your clothes off, and kneel at the foot of the bed with your hands behind your head."

That's enough for Gwaine to let out a helpless little sigh, the roar in his head already quieting a little. In the bedroom he draws the curtains and strips quickly, anxious to get on his knees. Once he has, and has woven his fingers together behind his head, he feels marginally better. He listens carefully to Merlin moving about in the other room, focuses on his breathing.

Merlin doesn't keep him waiting long, but when he enters the bedroom and shuts the door behind himself with a soft click, he stays behind Gwaine, out of his eye-line. Gwaine bites his lip, telling himself to just wait, just wait.

"Don't speak," Merlin says after a moment. "You can make as much noise as you want, but I don't want to hear a single word out of you, do you understand?"

Gwaine nods sharply, just once.

"Good boy."

Gwaine flinches a little at the praise because he's not, he's _not_ good, but he wants to be _so much_. And Merlin can help him, Gwaine's sure of it. Merlin's quick to cuff him, the wide leather ones that make Gwaine think with a pleasurable shiver of manacles. They're lined with fleece but if Gwaine holds a certain position he can feel the rough edge of the leather at his wrists and forearms.

The chain between the cuffs is short; only spreader bars restrict his range of movement more. Gwaine feels a surge of love for Merlin. He just knows Gwaine so well, even when Gwaine's unable to say it for himself. In the centre of the chain there's a wider link, a large circle, and as Merlin threads a rope through it, Gwaine's heart starts beating slow and hard, the rabbity flutter replaced by something better.

There's a circle of metal in the ceiling, probably barely noticeable to most people, but Gwaine is always aware of it. _Always_. He knows Merlin has fed the other end of the rope through it even before he starts pulling on it, getting rid of the slack. He doesn't move his hands, just lets Merlin do as he wishes, lets his arms be pulled up above his head, lets the pressure at his wrists drag him stumbling to his feet.

When Merlin's done, Gwaine is not quite on tiptoe, but his feet are not quite flat on the floor either. It's fine for now, but Gwaine's already anticipating the burn in his calves that will come before too long.

"Do you want a blindfold?"

Gwaine shakes his head and Merlin waits a moment.

"Gag?"

Merlin's trying to give him an out, maybe thinks Gwaine can't follow through on his promise not to speak. Gwaine shakes his head again, stubborn, maybe a little hurt.

"Alright. Eyes forward," Merlin says. "You can close them if you want, but don't try to look round."

Gwaine gives another nod and fixes his gaze on the curtained window at the head of Merlin's bed. Merlin's hands fall to Gwaine's hips for a moment, holding him steady. His fingers curl around the bone and Gwaine lets out a shuddering breath.

"We're going to start slowly," Merlin tells him, no room for negotiation. Slow is the last thing Gwaine wants right now. He wants it all, wants to get straight to that place where pain and pleasure and nothingness collide, but he's not going to complain, not going to decide he knows better.

They do indeed start slow, painfully so. Merlin's hands skim up and down his sides, almost light enough to tickle. It makes Gwaine shiver, then outright shake when Merlin retraces the path with his fingernails.

"God, you really need it, don't you?"

Gwaine nods frantically and Merlin says, "Okay. Okay but you have to calm down first. Need you to just relax. Let me take care of you."

Gwaine heaves another shaky sigh and nods.

"Good. I know what you need, and I _will_ give it to you. When you're ready for it."

 _I'm ready,_ Gwaine wants to scream. _I'm so fucking ready, just do it_.

He bites down hard on the words and feels Merlin's hands settle on his ribs, reading his breath like Braille. One hand slips around to fondle Gwaine gently. He's not hard yet, and Merlin's hand around the softness of his dick makes Gwaine shiver with _vulnerable_ and _want_ and _his_.

Merlin's foot taps against Gwaine's instep and he widens his stance without further prompting. Finally, _finally_ , Gwaine can feel some of the ugly tension bleeding out of him and he lets out a deep breath, steady this time.

"That's it," Merlin says. He sounds proud and pleased, and all the things Gwaine wants desperately to make him feel.

They continue that way for a bit, Merlin's hands touching where they please, Gwaine fighting the urge to lean into it. Merlin kisses the back of Gwaine's shoulder, over his tattoo. Merlin's always been fascinated by the lines and curves of it, and has said more than once that he wishes he'd been there to see it inked into place. _One day_ , Gwaine promises himself. One day he'll get another and Merlin will be there, soothing him through the buzz.

Finally, when Gwaine feels warmed all over by Merlin's hands, tingles spreading over his skin, Merlin steps back and Gwaine hears the rattle of a drawer opening behind him. His breath speeds up again and this time Merlin doesn't reprimand him. There's a couple of noises behind him, things being set down. One is like a clunk, wood on wood. _Paddle_ , Gwaine thinks. The other noise is softer and Gwaine isn't sure what it is. Whip? Flogger? Belt? Could be almost anything.

Gwaine hopes for the flogger, because that's Merlin's specialty, if the word isn't too silly. The one he uses most often is black leather, the thongs soft, almost suede-soft, and about a third of them have little knots tied in the end. Gwaine knows every little detail of it, has played with it, has held it, kissed it, crawled on all fours to Merlin with the braided handle between his teeth. And Merlin wields it like a professional, masterful and precise, to cause pain or pleasure or any of the countless shades in between.

There's a pause then, silence in the room. Gwaine can't feel anything other than the cuffs around his wrists, the thick carpet under his toes. If he focuses hard he can hear Merlin breathing, low and controlled. He'd love to see it, the serenity that settles on Merlin like comfortable clothes. It's a beautiful thing, and Merlin knows Gwaine thinks so. _When you need this, you only have to ask_. Maybe this – eyes forward, don't look – maybe this is his punishment.

Gwaine waits for a breathless moment and then feels the soft caress of polished wood on his back, starting at the nape of his neck and trailing down his spine to the curve of his arse. _Paddle_ , he thinks to himself. Smooth, shiny wood that feels so soft.

The first strike is gentle, on the meatiest part of his backside, not jarring enough for Gwaine to do more than exhale. Merlin carries on like that for a little while, soft slaps hardly more than the pressure of his hand would be. It goes on a good long while, the sound of the blows gradually rising, becoming sharper. While a few land high up on his thighs, Merlin keeps most of his strikes on Gwaine's arse. He doesn't quite alternate between left and right cheeks, some bridging the crease, stinging softer skin just a bit.

Gwaine moves his hands just a little, curving his wrists inside the manacles, feeling the first stretched ache along his calves and the insides of his upper arms. He's not expecting it when he feels Merlin's fingers between his cheeks, knee pressed into Gwaine's inner thigh to push his legs wider apart. Merlin's fingers are slick already, pushing into Gwaine with no sense of hesitation. There's little sexual about it, not yet, just another touch, another sense of Merlin's mastery. Gwaine feels Merlin's fingers – two, he thinks – press deeper, and the stretch at his rim, the press of Merlin's palm into his reddened skin, shock a cry out of him, one that might have become 'fuck!' given half a chance, only he bites it off, certain Merlin's noticed and approves of his restraint, if the quick stroke of the paddle over heated skin is anything to go by.

Merlin's next paddle blow lands more on the side of Gwaine's arse, making him tense and clench around the long, elegant length of his fingers. Gwaine's aching, _aching_ , to look at Merlin so he screws his eyes tightly shut and chokes on a moan when the next stroke of the paddle has a slight upward cast to it, catching the underside of Gwaine's arse, feels like it's beating Merlin's fingers deeper into him. Merlin alternates between finger-fucking him and placing light, deliberate blows with the paddle. Gwaine's feeling nicely warmed up by the time Merlin withdraws his fingers, the layers of heat from the paddle long since turned into a burn.

"I'm going to hurt you now," Merlin says, and the words are like something electric curling low in Gwaine's belly. "Remember," Merlin tells him. "You're not to speak unless you're telling me to slow down or stop."

Gwaine nods once, lets Merlin take his time.

"Keep count," Merlin adds. "Silently."

And then the first proper blow lands, stinging. _One_ , Gwaine thinks desperately. _One-one-one_. He knows Merlin will ask, once he's done, and if Gwaine gets it wrong, Merlin will likely start all over again. Gwaine glances down at himself, utterly unsurprised to find he's hard, with no idea of when that happened. The second blow falls in the exact same spot as the first, the sound ringing in the bedroom, mixing with Gwaine's wordless – because he can _do_ this, goddamnit – shout.

The next blow comes faster, lands lower, the bottom edge of the paddle just catching the top of Gwaine's thigh. Number four makes him stumble, sudden tug on his arms. Merlin's always silent during these parts, like he's concentrating on Gwaine with absolutely everything he has.

"How many?" Merlin asks some immeasurable period of time later. "You may answer."

Gwaine thinks for a moment, wanting to be sure, wanting it to be right. He works his jaw a little, and says, "Eleven."

Merlin would never make it so easy as to stick to increments of half a dozen.

"Very good," Merlin tells him. "Are you ready to move on?"

Gwaine almost blurts out _yes_ , but catches himself in time because Merlin said 'you may _answer_ ', not 'you may _speak_ '. He nods instead and Merlin makes a pleased sound.

"Move your fingers," Merlin says, and while the words make sense, Gwaine just can't see _why_ , doesn't want to move anywhere, just wants to stay as he is, Merlin filling all his senses. "Gwaine," Merlin says insistently, fingers on his face, brushing sweat and maybe a tear or two off his cheeks. "Can you make a fist?"

Gwaine just nods – _I don't want to hear a single word out of you_ – and Merlin says, "Go on, then. Show me."

Gwaine does, fisting both hands tight above the cuffs.

"Good boy," Merlin says, skimming his hand over Gwaine's arm, squeezing the stretched muscles just a little. This time Gwaine doesn't flinch, just sinks a little deeper into himself thinking _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyoumakemebetter_.

"I wouldn't bother keeping count this time," Merlin says, a flicker of amusement in his voice.

Gwaine tries at first anyway, but Merlin is a tricky bugger and sometimes he makes the flogger whistle through the air in a way that has Gwaine bracing for a white-hot flare of agony, only for the ends of the flogger to just barely tickle between his shoulder blades. It's easy for Gwaine to lose himself, keeping only what's important. This, this moment right here, made up of pain and satisfaction and warmth.

It's strange, the ways he does and doesn't feel the blows. In one way, he feels every single one, can visualise the way his skin would shift, the give of his flesh under pressure, the white-then-red lines that would spring up in the wake of the strike. But in another it seems to be only the occasional blow that really properly registers, when the pain feels like it should instead of just like a burst of heat all over.

One across the small of his back that feels like fire. One at a different angle, two of the knotted ends whipping around and biting into his ribs. One across his arse, fire on top of the heat from the paddle. Gwaine doesn't know which one has reduced him to it but he's breathing heavy and slow, his pulse echoing in his ears, not a single thought in his head but being good, being still and wordless and _good_. He can't quite keep up the stance Merlin has nudged him into and he has to fight to keep his feet under him. All his muscles feel liquid and hot, like the complete shut-down that comes after he's run as fast as he can for as long as he can.

Beyond that comes a point where every breath is edged with a moan, every beat of his heart echoing over every inch of his skin. He knows Merlin is probably breathing hard by this point too, from exertion if nothing else, but he can't hear it. He has a sense of Merlin though, like the tactile equivalent of static, like a touch so familiar and expected that you barely notice for ages at a time.

The hurts – arms, wrists, back, arse, calves, jaw from clenching to keep in words, lip where maybe he bit down as Merlin landed a blow – are changing now, becoming more like a glow than anything else. Gwaine can never describe this bit, calls it floating or lying in clouds, because it feels like how he'd imagined a cloud would when he was a child. Soft and warm, endless caresses, and it's like every hot flare of should-be-pain from the flogger is just the cloud rolling and shifting in the wind.

And then the rolling stops and everything is still. Merlin's arm goes around his waist, the press of his shirt and trousers against the abused skin of Gwaine's back and arse a fresh wave of pain that makes him whine, high and trembling.

"Shh," Merlin says. "Shh, shh, oh god, shh." He's kissing the side of Gwaine's throat, his jaw, his wet cheeks. "Gwaine, baby, you still with me?"

Gwaine manages a sluggish nod. The tension in the rope gives and his whole body sags, raw and oversensitive. Merlin holds him easily, deceptive strength in those lean muscles. He drops kisses onto the sweaty skin at Gwaine's nape.

"Good boy," he says. "Good boy, you did so well."

Gwaine shudders with pleasure because he believes that now, believes in himself, in Merlin, in what they have. He wants desperately to tell Merlin that, that he loves him like he's never loved another, needs him like he needs air. Words couldn't possibly do it justice though, and anyway, Merlin said no words. He lets his head drop back instead, baring his throat for Merlin. He feels the flat of Merlin's teeth against his neck, feels hot breath on his skin.

"Little more," Merlin tells him, undoing the cuffs. "Just a little more. I want to fuck you."

Gwaine nods again, dreamy, lets Merlin walk him forward onto the bed, onto his knees, his aching back sloping down to where he has his shoulders on the bed.

"You can talk," Merlin offers and Gwaine bites his lip, shakes his head. Nothing to say. No words that could come close. Merlin touches his arm, just a fleeting brush of fingers but it radiates understanding and Gwaine closes his eyes, lets Merlin hitch his hips a little higher.

He waits like that, not thinking, not counting heartbeats, not even waiting, just _there_. He feels Merlin move away, hears a different drawer open this time. _Condom_ , he thinks, and then Merlin's there, weight dipping the bed behind Gwaine, long-fingered hands on his hips, always so sure.

The stretching from earlier has done enough, but only just, and Gwaine can feel his body straining to accept the hard length of Merlin's cock inside. Merlin doesn't pause, just pushes in and in and in until it feels deep and huge and scary, like his body's not his anymore, it's Merlin's. Scary-good though, Jesus yes, it's good. Gwaine comes at some point and it's totally secondary to Merlin's hands curled around his hips, anchoring him, to Merlin filling him up again and again and again.

The smack of Merlin's hips into his arse heats his skin, like a warm-down at the end of a work-out. Gwaine rubs his face against the sheets, the cotton cool on his hot cheeks.

" – it, that's it, stay there, stay down, take it – "

Merlin's voice reaches him through a soft haze and Gwaine makes a noise of agreement, fingers spread wide against the sheets. When Merlin's fingers curl around his own Gwaine squeezes, and Merlin fucks into him once, twice more before he shivers against Gwaine and his body locks down hard, silent and tight like he always is when he comes.

The next time Gwaine's really properly aware, he's in Merlin's arms, half on top of him, Merlin's fingers gentle in his hair, along the back of his neck, any unmarked spot he can find on Gwaine's body. Gwaine turns his head just a fraction, kisses Merlin's chest under his mouth.

"You're wonderful," Merlin tells him, low and secret. "You're so good, Gwaine."

Later, Merlin disappears for a few minutes, talking all the time so Gwaine can track the sound of his voice, even when it has to compete with the sound of running water. When Gwaine starts to shiver a bit Merlin steers him gently into the bath. Washes his body, his hair, his face (Gwaine's eyes trustingly open until Merlin prompts him, and then there's maybe even more trust in keeping them closed), ever so gentle on his back, Merlin's fingers tracing on one of the soothing washes he uses. Gwaine doesn't know where Merlin gets them from but they feel nice, feel cooler than the water, but warmer than the air.

Much, much later even than that, Merlin's just starting to fall asleep when Gwaine says, "Next time."

Merlin looks at him, his face blurred in the dark room. "Yes?"

"Next time, I promise to ask."


	3. Taking Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has a challenge for Gwaine, and Gwaine is more than willing to rise to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Additional content notes for this part:** object insertion/arse play, size kink, a wee bit of consent play, and a vague hint of medical kink.

When Gwaine gets to Merlin's on Friday evening, Merlin isn't back from work yet. Gwaine lets himself in with his key and waits on the sofa. He's not sure what to expect for the weekend. Merlin had asked him a while ago to find an entirely free weekend, and Gwaine has been wondering why ever since. He takes a very thorough shower and then pulls on his jeans and t-shirt again and pads barefoot to the living room. 

He lets himself sprawl on sofa, indulging himself in Merlin's space, the presence that always lingers. He sits up sharply when he hears Merlin's key in the door, a smile tugging at his lips. Merlin calls out a greeting as he walks in, alerted by the soft burbling of the radio in the background.

"Hi," Gwaine says, quickly getting to his feet. 

Merlin's face melts into a smile and he holds his arms out to Gwaine. Merlin gives him a sweet kiss, curling his fingers under Gwaine's chin. 

"Good day?" Gwaine asks.

"Bearable," Merlin says, kissing Gwaine again before shrugging out of his jacket. "I need to go and take a shower," he says.

Gwaine nods. "Want me to come and scrub your back?"

He's only half joking, and can't help a twinge of regret when Merlin just smiles and tells him, "Another time. I won't be long."

Sure enough, Merlin's back quickly. His hair is curling damply on his neck and he's dressed in soft black trousers and a shirt that Gwaine loves on him. He sits on the sofa with Gwaine and stops him when he goes to move to the floor.

"I got something new for us to play with," Merlin says, and those words feel hard-wired to Gwaine's cock by now.

"What is it?"

Merlin tips his head towards the bedroom. "If you don't want to, just leave it in the box. We'll do something else."

Gwaine grins and leans over to kiss Merlin before he goes. "Sounds interesting."

Merlin curls his fingers into Gwaine's hair and kisses him again. "Mmm. Either way, lose the clothes."

Gwaine laughs delightedly and lets Merlin give him a little push towards the bedroom. The box at the end of the bed is of a familiar, excitingly nondescript type, and Gwaine's quick to undress, folding his clothes and putting them onto the empty shelf in Merlin's wardrobe that they use for such things. There's nothing waiting on the shelf for Gwaine to put on, so he takes up his customary position, kneeling at the foot of the bed before he opens the box. 

When he does, his mouth goes dry. It's a dildo, realistically shaped, but so large it looks barely shy of being a joke one. The surface is soft and the tip flexible, but the shaft feels solid enough that Gwaine can feel tremors already, of excitement, of trepidation, of the heady mixture of both. It's bigger than the biggest one they have, bigger by a good inch around, and longer by a few more. The head is flared and the shaft veined, a handgrip at the base. Gwaine gets ahead of himself like always, already imagining the sense of triumph that would come from taking such a thing, the ache, and how heart-stoppingly careful Merlin would be with him afterwards. 

He takes it out almost worshipfully, pushing the empty box under the bed and settling in to wait, kneeling at the foot of the bed with the dildo resting on his upturned palms. It takes a little while for Merlin to join him. When he does, he squeezes Gwaine's shoulder on his way past. Gwaine keeps his eyes on the thick pole in his hands. 

"You like it, then?" Merlin asks, and Gwaine nods. "Show me."

Gwaine bows his head and mouths at it, at the thick shaft, the carefully moulded veins under his tongue. It's sideways on and he wraps his mouth around as much of it as he can, like a dog with a bone. Merlin makes a noise that sounds pleased, but he's quick to say, "Suck it now."

Gwaine does, the flared head filling his mouth beautifully, the dildo heavy and solid – _really_ solid – on his tongue. He can feel his mouth filling with drool, wetting the slide and lets his eyes close as he takes it deeper, pushing himself. Merlin's fingers on his face stop him with a single touch and he pulls it out, realises how little of it he was able to wet with his mouth, and feels his first real flare of trepidation. The inside of his mouth feels puckered up from the smooth texture. Merlin takes the toy – although it seems absurd to call something so intimidating a _toy_ – and disappears out of Gwaine's eyeline.

When he comes back, he sits on the end of the bed and pats the mattress, guiding Gwaine up to sit next to him. Merlin kisses him once, just quickly, and says, "Now, listen. There will be times when I'll tell you to be still and you must do it. No questions asked, no matter how wound up you are, if I tell you to be still, you can only move to breathe, do you understand?"

Gwaine nods, already slipping under.

"I can tie you up, use a spreader bar," Merlin offers. "But if you're bound, then you're bound from the start."

"No. No, I'll be good," Gwaine promises.

Merlin smiles at him bright and stunning. "I know you will." He kisses Gwaine then, a kiss of raw lust, the type which he won't allow himself again until afterwards. There will be affectionate kisses, demanding kisses, kisses planned to steal Gwaine's breath right when Merlin chooses. But they will all be careful in their own way, based on Merlin's assessment of their needs. Gwaine loves the care Merlin takes in this, but he loves this too, the wild, unrestrained side of Merlin.

Merlin presses his forehead to Gwaine's and takes a slow breath. He rubs his thumbs over Gwaine's cheekbones and something changes on his face, his whole body. Gwaine loves watching it, _loves_ seeing the control settle over Merlin, a stillness and economy of movement that makes the simplest gestures purposeful.

"How do you want me?" Gwaine asks.

"On your back for now," Merlin says. "We'll see how it goes."

Gwaine turns over obediently and lets Merlin arrange him, low down on the mattress with his feet flat on the bed, legs bent and held apart.

"Comfortable?" Merlin asks. Gwaine nods, and Merlin pats his knee softly. "Good boy."

Gwaine feels anxious to get started, but he waits in silence, looking up at the ceiling while he listens to Merlin padding around the room. He comes back to the bed and knee-walks across it until he's straddling Gwaine's stomach, smiling down at him. Merlin leans down to kiss him, demanding, and Gwaine opens to him easily, letting Merlin do as he wishes.

Merlin makes a noise of satisfaction as he pulls back to look at Gwaine again. "You're in a very good mood, today," he tells Gwaine.

"I am," Gwaine agrees. He pointedly lets his gaze flicker over Merlin's face. "What do I have to be sad about?"

Merlin's smile is blinding before kisses Gwaine again. "You can talk as much as you want, by the way," he says. "Answer me when I ask you something, but between questions too. Anything you want. I feel like hearing your voice."

Gwaine nods and lifts his chin in a wordless plea for another kiss. Merlin indulges him before sliding off Gwaine to curl at his side. "We'll be going slowly," he says, gesturing towards a towel on the desk. It is obviously draped over a range of their toys and suddenly it's clearer why Merlin wanted Gwaine to have the whole evening and night kept free; he means to take his time. 

Sure enough, Merlin rolls away, and the first thing he takes from underneath the towel is a cock ring. He eases it on over Gwaine's half-hard cock while Gwaine stares at the ceiling and grits his teeth and tries to think unarousing thoughts.

"There," Merlin says, content. "I want you to come on the big one, not before."

Gwaine nods, already flustered. Merlin lifts two fingers to Gwaine's mouth and Gwaine opens for him promptly, sucking on his fingertips. Merlin hooks his fingers behind Gwaine's teeth and pulls his mouth open, strokes the pads of his fingers over Gwaine's tongue. With Gwaine's legs bent and held apart, it's the easiest thing in the world for Merlin to reach down and rub his wet fingertips over Gwaine's hole. There's no pressure to get inside and Gwaine shifts back and forth anxiously, eager.

The next thing Merlin fetches is a jar of lube and an applicator. There's a wet noise as he fills it and Gwaine bites his lip, then remembers what Merlin said and lets a whine escape. The nozzle is slender, easily breaching Gwaine's touch-softened muscles. The squirt of lube into his channel feels clinical enough to make him shiver as Merlin withdraws the syringe.

"Don't look," Merlin says, gently teasing. "It can be a surprise, hmm?"

Gwaine nods fervently, wanting everything to be utterly in Merlin's hands. "I like surprises."

Merlin's grin is blinding. The first toy is one of Merlin's favourites, a slim, hard vibe not much bigger than a finger. He traces the shuddering tip over Gwaine's inner thighs for a moment, watching him shiver. He briefly switches the vibrations off as he slides the cool shaft into Gwaine. Then it's back on, a constant low thrum that Gwaine can hear and feel all at once, shaking through him.

"Good?" Merlin asks, moving the vibrator in small increments.

"Yes," Gwaine says, his knees falling wider apart, lifting up towards the gentle push. "S'good. Mmm. More."

"Not yet," Merlin tells him. "Slowly, remember?"

Gwaine grits his teeth and nods, his fists tensing and relaxing at his sides. Merlin has his way for a while longer, a flash of more powerful vibration every now and then until he draws it back out. There is another squeeze of lube inside him, unexpected because Gwaine was obediently not looking. The next toy inside him is a plug, still slim but with a flare at the base. It goes in easy and Merlin leaves it in place as he moves up Gwaine's body to kiss him.

"Turn over," Merlin tells him, and Gwaine likes the clumsy, careful way he has to move to get on his hands and knees. Merlin presses his fingers to the base of the plug, nudging it deeper. Gwaine fists his hands in the sheets and is horribly grateful Merlin didn't make any rules about noise.

He starts to withdraw the plug and then pushes it back in at an angle, stretching Gwaine with the base. He does that a few more times, his free hand squeezing Gwaine's thigh.

"How's that?" Merlin asks. "You feeling the stretch yet?"

"Mmm," Gwaine hums, his lip caught between his teeth. "A little."

"A little," Merlin echoes. He slides the plug in to its widest point and circles it in a purposeful stretch that Gwaine _definitely_ feels.

His head drops down between his shoulders and he lets out a tense moan, fingers curling into the sheets. "Yes," he says. "That – god – feeling that."

Merlin reseats the plug all the way in and strokes his palm over Gwaine's arse. He gives Gwaine a quick slap and Gwaine tenses up around the solid intrusion of the plug, another noise knocked out of his throat. Merlin squeezes his hip, strokes a finger down the back of his thigh. Then his finger traces up again, disappears for a second, and when it comes back it's slick, spreading more lube around the rim of Gwaine's hole. Gwaine turns his face into his tense arm, feeling sweat burst in fresh beads along his forehead.

"Do you want to see the next one?" Merlin offers.

"No. No, just do it," Gwaine says.

The plug is removed and Merlin lubes him again, the sensation familiar by now. That done, there's a blunt pressure against his hole for a second, and then a vibration that makes him shout, more in surprise than anything else. The vibration is gone but the pressure remains, the head of the vibe pushing inside. Merlin carries on like that, sliding in an inch or so and then subjecting Gwaine to a burst of slow, pulsing vibrations.

This is the first one that Gwaine's body really protests at. It's not quite as wide as the widest point of the plug, but it is longer, and the insistent vibrations leave him unable to catch his breath. Merlin switches it off eventually, fucks Gwaine with it instead. That's easier than the vibrations and Gwaine rocks back into it a few times. He should know better, really, and sure enough Merlin stops altogether, just holding the base steady.

"Go on, then," he tells Gwaine. "Ride it."

Gwaine pushes up on his hands and rocks back and forth, feeling the unyielding length filling and emptying him as he does so. Merlin stays silent, switching the vibrations on and off at a whim, so Gwaine has no idea what each thrust will feel like until he's in the middle of it.

"Holy fuck," Gwaine groans when Merlin leaves it on a low speed for several complete thrusts, carefully rotating the base in small circles. Gwaine drops to his elbows again, hunching desperately. He's not sure if he wants to get away, or if he wants it deeper, harder, more. 

"Fuck, that's it. I want you nice and open for me. When I fuck you with that thing I want it to slide in easy where you're so desperate for it."

Gwaine nods into the pillow, trance-like, splaying his legs as wide as he can.

"But god, when you come on it – " Merlin starts and laughs when Gwaine lets out a shuddery groan. "Yeah, you know it. You felt how hard it was when you were sucking it, right?"

"Yes. Nnn. Yes."

Merlin touches his cock and Gwaine arches back. He's trying not to think about how hard he is, because odds are he's going to fucking _cry_ if he does. Merlin's hand on his hip stills him, and Gwaine can feels his breath heaving in his chest, burning. Merlin hushes him and that's Gwaine's first clue that he's talking, babbling, a string of pleas and promises spilling out of him.

"Alright," Merlin says, soothing. "You're doing so well."

Gwaine lets loose a grateful sob, rubbing his overheated face against the cool sheets.

"So well. I'm so proud of you," Merlin tells him. "We're going to stop for a little while – "

"No! No, I can do it, I promise – "

"Shh, I know you can. Not stop, then. Pause. Is that better?"

It shouldn't make a difference, but it really does. Gwaine nods raggedly.

"Alright. You can have a ten minute break with a larger plug – the blue one – or a five minute break empty."

"Ten," Gwaine answers without thought, and Merlin stays silent, neither approving or disapproving, just waiting. Gwaine forces himself to think. To have his arse left alone for five minutes would be a blessing but it would probably only feel more exquisitely terrible to carry on later. Ten minutes is better, and he repeats with more confidence, "Ten minutes please."

"Alright," Merlin says. He's too quick for Gwaine to register his movements, and his entire consciousness is a blur anyway. Before he can think, he is empty, then slick, then full, then eased down onto a soft mound of pillows. "Alright, then. Ten minutes," Merlin says, his voice coming to Gwaine through the daze. It doesn't sound like much, but Gwaine knows the minutes will crawl past.

"Do you want a drink?" Merlin asks.

"In a bit," Gwaine says. "Don't leave."

"I won't. It's alright. How do you feel?"

"Good," Gwaine affirms.

"Not sore?"

"No," Gwaine says. And he's not, not quite, but he's very aware of his body, of the things Merlin has done to it, and still plans to do. 

At some point Merlin brings Gwaine a drink, a cold glass of water with a straw so he doesn't have to think about moving. The ten minutes passes in a haze of kisses and sweet words, and by the end Gwaine feels petted and cosseted and adored. 

At the end Merlin says, "Are you okay for a few more minutes? I like this."

Gwaine nods, groans his agreement, because if he didn't love it already, this would have done it, for Merlin to like it, to ask for more... Gwaine stays still and quiet, relishing the feel of Merlin's fingers on his face, his throat.

"You're so good," Merlin says again and he sounds stunned, sounds as blown away and grateful and reverent as Gwaine feels. A while later, Merlin asks him, "Are you comfortable?"

Gwaine nods and Merlin kisses his shoulder, his spine, his ribs. Gwaine has to wonder how much of this pause was for Merlin's benefit. The thought makes him feel tender and strong all at once, and he inches his legs a little further apart for Merlin. Gwaine gets very little warning before Merlin eases the plug out of him, and even less before he's refilled, with the same vibe as before, unless he's much mistaken.

Merlin doesn't use the vibrations this time, doesn't tease. It feels, like the application of the lube through that little nozzle, very clinical and purposeful. Which is not to say that he feels disconnected from Merlin. Far from it. He feels utterly won over by the way Merlin's preparing him, careful and deliberate. Merlin only fucks Gwaine with it for a little while, warming him again after the pause.

Merlin nuzzles at the crease of Gwaine's thigh, nipping at the skin and sucking on a mouthful, painting a bruise onto his skin. Gwaine knows he'll look for that later, twisting in front of the mirror until he can see it.

"Moving on, now," Merlin warns him. 

Gwaine nods against the sheets. "Yes. _Mmm_. Merlin – please."

"Shh, I'm here, I've got you."

"I know," Gwaine says, the words heavy in his throat. "You have, you always – "

As Merlin lubes him again, Gwaine sucks in a few deep breaths, waiting. He doesn't have to wait long. Gwaine knows this one, knows the feel of it. It was, until today, the largest one they had, ridged at the head and with round nubs along the shaft. Gwaine doesn't think he's ever taken it so easily, ever felt his whole body so eager and ready for the intrusion. 

Merlin has fucked him _brutally_ with this one in the past, so Gwaine is sort of expecting not to get much warning. And he really doesn't. Merlin instantly starts up a rhythm of quick, shallow thrusts, the ridged head of the dildo dragging over sensitive skin.

"Nnng. Slow down," Gwaine says, and he can barely stand the lust that curls through him at the knowledge that Merlin won't, unless Gwaine uses the right words. Gwaine's played reluctant or unwilling before, but he's never got off on it the way he does with Merlin. It lets him feel the overwhelming nature of it right down to his core. When it's _so much_ that there aren't words for it, he can safely use the only words he can think of.

" _Stop_. Nnn. God, I can't – "

Merlin won't stop if Gwaine says _stop_ , but he absolutely _will_ stop if he says _red_. Gwaine's never fully realised how important that knowledge is to both partners before, and it strips away the last little sliver of anxiety. He can do anything, _say_ anything. He can call Merlin Sir or Master, he can beg for mercy, and he can know that it is entirely in Merlin's hands. 

Sure enough, Merlin speeds up a little just to be contrary. The bumps along the length of the shaft are pronounced and Gwaine moans weakly as Merlin shifts it, dragging those textured little nubs over the inside of Gwaine's arse.

"Ah, god – "

"I know," Merlin says quietly. "You like that one, don't you?"

Gwaine nods, humming his agreement. His toes curl sharply, his whole body locking up, and a flare of pain shoots through the sole of his foot.

"Ow, ow, ow!"

"Fuck! What?"

"Cramp," Gwaine says. "My fucking foot, shit, ow – "

"Fuck, this would be easier in a sling," Merlin says, rubbing his fingers against the ache in Gwaine's foot. Gwaine's careful as he moves his leg, circles his foot, his chest heaving. The pain – real, _unintentional_ pain – was an unpleasant shock, but Merlin quickly soothes him back down again with slow, easy thrusts of the dildo, keeping it simple.

Gwaine feels soaked with lube, gathering thick and frothy on his thighs where repeated fuckings with various toys have forced it out of him. Merlin has replaced it at such a steady rate that the thrusts feel and sound filthy-wet inside him. He's trying hard not to think of his cock, his aching, neglected cock, trying only to feel it as a heavy ache between his legs.

"How will it feel?" Merlin asks suddenly. "The big one. Tell me."

It's like he knows that Gwaine is fast heading for helplessly inarticulate, and wants as much out of him as possible before then.

"I don't – hard. Impossible. I can always do impossible things when I'm with you," Gwaine admits. He hears Merlin not-quite muffle a groan and feels a surge of pride that he can make Merlin sound that way. "Gonna – I'll – feel it for days," he says, wanting – as ever – to give Merlin _more_.

"Yes," Merlin says, encouraging. 

"Feel it – _everywhere._ "

"Christ – oh god – shh – "

"Sorry," Gwaine says in a small voice.

"No. No, I – " Merlin laughs shakily and tells Gwaine in a tone of teasing reproach, "You almost had me there."

Gwaine moans at the idea. Sometimes he's so lost in this that he forgets Merlin gets _physical_ pleasure from this, from more than just being in control of Gwaine. It's _him_ , the sight of him, his body and his words that do this to Merlin. The pride swells in his chest again, stealing his voice.

"Mmm. I think. Yeah, that's enough of that one," Merlin says, a few minutes later.

Gwaine is struck again by the planning Merlin must have done. The idea of Merlin imagining this, planning how he'd ease Gwaine open, how best to make him want it, is somehow overwhelming. Gwaine's first instinct is to feel unworthy, but if Merlin thinks he's worth it, then he is. Sometimes it's that simple. Gwaine feels empty, shaky, as Merlin eases him over onto his back near the bottom of the bed, knees bent and feet flat again, toes curling into the edge of the mattress.

"Can you take a bit more?" Merlin asks gently, and Gwaine nods. "Alright. One last bit of stretching, and we'll give it a go."

"Yes," Gwaine pants out. 

The press against his hole this time is smooth and round, wide straight away. He's still trying to work out what toy it is when his arse closes around the little ball and he realises: beads. 

"Next one's a little bigger," Merlin says, already working it inside. It's a new set, Gwaine realises with a flare of trepidation. Heavier than the usual ones, larger too. Merlin gets three of them inside Gwaine, each noticeably larger than the first, before he stops. "Put your legs flat," he says, and Gwaine breaks, sobs as his toes graze the floor, overwhelming pleasure leaving him broken as the beads shift inside him. 

"Shh, shh, shh," Merlin tells him, kissing the side of Gwaine's face where a tear has spilled. "It's okay, it's okay, I've got you, you're okay."

Gwaine nods, sniffs a couple of times and tries to steady his breathing. He feels so full, and every tiny movements make the beads shift, knocking together or nudging up against Gwaine's sensitised walls. Merlin smiles at him, brushes Gwaine's hair back from his face and kisses him again, Merlin's mouth lush on his bitten lips.

"Next bit's tricky," Merlin warns him. 

Gwaine wipes his hands over his face and looks down to where Merlin is getting to his feet. "Wh – what?"

"I need you to stand up."

Gwaine realises he was expecting that on some level, maybe becoming aware when Merlin had him set his feet on the floor. His breath whines out just at the thought of it.

Merlin, his tone still gentle but with an edge of steel to it now, says, "Come on, Gwaine. Up."

Gwaine does as he's told, feeling like he might just shake right apart. The beads are cunningly designed, each one a ball within a ball so their weight shifts independently, even before he thinks about the effects his changed posture has, that scary, insistent bulk pushing on him from the inside out. He feels raw and new now, every nerve a knife point, like he's something Merlin has created.

"Good," Merlin says, when Gwaine's on his feet, shivering. Merlin backs up with Gwaine's hands still held in his and says, "Come, now. Come to me."

Gwaine shakes his head, frantic.

"You can do it," Merlin says. "It's one step, maybe two. You can do that for me, can't you? One little step?"

"I can't," Gwaine says, but it's a reflex because he can, he _is_. " _Ah_. Merlin, Merlin – "

Merlin takes a tiny step backwards, like he's teaching Gwaine to walk. Gwaine matches him, and with each clumsy step he can feel the bead not inside him bumping against his thighs. Merlin keeps hold of his hands though, and doesn't complain when Gwaine only manages a few steps before his legs buckle and he stumbles forward. Merlin's arms go around him, gather him up, and Gwaine presses his face to Merlin's chest. Merlin soothes him, bears him back towards the bed ever so gently.

He turns Gwaine around, eases him back onto the bed, onto his hands and knees. He ignores Gwaine's ragged whine in favour of running his hand up and down Gwaine's thigh. It feels so good, and there's still more to come. Merlin's slow to take the beads out of him, popping each one in and out a couple of times before he removes it. Gwaine just stays in the ungainly sprawl Merlin put him in, hips raised on the same mound of pillows as before, his unseeing eyes riveted on the ceiling. He feels like his blood has been replaced by something far hotter, something intoxicating, putting him more firmly under with each beat of his heart.

"Beautiful," Merlin tells him, his voice one of the only things that could make it through this delicious haze of sensation. The only thing in the world that matters is Merlin, pleasing him and obeying him and giving into him.

"Look at me," Merlin says, and Gwaine does. It takes some doing though, like his body's so accustomed to Merlin's control that exerting his own takes an extra effort of will.

Merlin has the dildo in his hand, the _one_ , the new one, the point of his whole night. "Kiss it," he tells Gwaine, the same way he sometimes does with a paddle or the flogger. Gwaine kisses the head, tongues at the ridged foreskin. "Good. Good boy," he says. His voice has gone rough and ragged, his eyes dark as he pushes it a little deeper into Gwaine's mouth. Gwaine works his tongue against it, sucks it enough to hollow his cheeks before Merlin takes it away.

Merlin lubes him up again with the applicator, then slicks the dildo in turn. Gwaine groans at the way Merlin's hands look on it. His long, slim fingers only accentuate its size. Gwaine would be surprised if they haven't gone through a whole tube of lube already tonight. Now that he's paying attention, his inner thighs feel slick with it. Then there's nothing more to do but wait for Merlin to fill him up. 

It takes time. Gwaine fights to relax as much as he can, but it still takes time. Merlin presses it in deep – not all the way though, not yet – and then sets in with shallow thrusts, opening him up. It hurts in the same intoxicating way it hurts to press around the edges of a bruise. He's sure Merlin slicks him again, but he can't scrape his brain together enough to pinpoint individual movements. He feels focused and distracted all at once.

The actual moment of success, of taking the whole thing, is lost on him. He only realises when Merlin groans and says, "Oh god, oh baby, well _done_. Look at you – _Jesus_ , Gwaine."

The sense of accomplishment floods him then, another rush and then suddenly it's – not easy, never that, but it's _slick_ , a slow smooth slide as Merlin fucks him with the biggest thing that Gwaine has ever, _ever_ taken. It's only when Gwaine throws his arm over his eyes that he realises he's quaking in fine shivers all over his body.

"Be still," Merlin says, and Gwaine remembers what he said earlier, freezes in an instant. "Good boy. Now. I need to take the cock ring off you. I need both hands but I'm going to leave the cock in you. So _don't_ move. And don't you _dare_ come."

Gwaine holds still, Merlin's fingers feeling cool on his prick as he fumbles with the small catch on the ring, freeing him. Gwaine jolts when it's gone, squeezing down harder on the dildo than he's dared to before. The shock of pleasure ripples out through his body and his hand inches towards his cock instinctively. 

" _No_ ," Merlin says, his voice sharp. Gwaine could weep. "I told you, when you come, I want you to come on this. Just this," he says, nudging the dildo an impossible fraction of an inch deeper. Gwaine throws his arm over his face again, his breath a hot, clawing thing in his throat. He jolts, electrified and practically sobbing when Merlin touches the rim of his hole.

"Please – I can't – please."

Tears – from the sheer vastness of the sensations rocking him – wet his face and Merlin asks gently, "Do you remember your words?"

Gwaine nods, still hidden behind his arm, not trusting his voice.

"Do you need them?"

He shakes his head this time, his whole body shuddering as he breathes in.

"You've done so well," Merlin tells him. "Been so good. I think you deserve to come, don't you?"

"I – " Gwaine says. The truth is he is a little afraid of coming on that thing, the thought of his body clamping down on it, moulding around it. He nods feverishly, anyway.

Merlin draws the dildo back, unerringly precise as he finds Gwaine's prostate, nails it with the head. Gwaine moves, tiny jolts of his hips that feel huge and dangerous. He can't _not_ , though. Merlin is relentless, ceaseless in his treatment of Gwaine. The persistent battering against his prostate is too much, he knows he won't hold out much longer. And when he comes his body will snatch at the hard shaft, eager for more beyond all reason. It will be the kind of pleasure that hurts. It might break him but if it does, Merlin will be there to put him back together.

That final reassuring thought is what does it for Gwaine, relaxes him enough that he stops thinking, stops being aware of anything except the sensation. He screams when he comes, enough that it hurts his throat afterwards. That's nothing to the shocks rippling through him crazily, his body jerking out of his control. His breath turns into a high, whining thing, trapped in his chest even as Merlin hushes him. Merlin's careful enough to make Gwaine's head spin as he eases the dildo out of him. It feels huge on the way out, and Gwaine hears his own breath catch again, a raw, ugly noise. He's stunned at what he's accomplished. For Merlin, with Merlin, thanks to Merlin.

Merlin doesn't move him, just curls around him so Gwaine's held close, Merlin so near that Gwaine inhales him with every breath. It's a long time before he feels like speaking or moving, and Merlin's patient, just keeps Gwaine nestled close, hands moving in that slow, careful way he has afterwards, like he's checking for damage. When Gwaine's breathing has slowed, he still couldn't say that he feels normal. He can feel the physical ache, yes, but he knows that will fade. As so often with Merlin though, he feels altered. Fundamentally, seismically changed. 

Merlin picks Gwaine's hand up from where it's still loosely fisted in the sheets. He kisses Gwaine's fingertips, and then his knuckles.

"You take my breath away," Merlin says, quiet and achingly sincere. Gwaine clears his throat, lifts his free hand to wipe over his face as Merlin goes on, "One day, I want to know how it feels to fuck you after I use that on you."

Gwaine is at that delicate stage where it would be all too easy to reinterpret his own pleasure as selfishness and he offers, "You could – "

Merlin just smiles, traces a pattern over Gwaine's chest. "You can do something else for me later. Just relax. You earned it."

Gwaine melts against Merlin, matching his breath to Merlin's and wishing he could match their heartbeats as well. It's a little like coming back from a full-body dead leg. He becomes aware of odd parts of his body and their strange aches – his very fingertips are sore from digging so hard into the mattress, there is an echoing tenderness in his left calf, maybe a hangover from the cramp? Gwaine stays quiet, cataloguing each soreness and trying to calculate how long it will last, how long he will get to feel this way. 

"What now?" Gwaine asks a little while later, his throat feeling raw.

Merlin strokes his fingers over Gwaine's jaw. "What would you like?"

Gwaine thinks for a moment. "This is good."

"Then this is what we'll do," Merlin says. "Just this. We can stay in bed all weekend if you'd like."

Gwaine nods. "That _does_ sound good. But – can I suck you later?"

Merlin lifts Gwaine's hand again, kissing his palm this time. "You're utterly insatiable, aren't you?"

"Only when it's you," Gwaine argues.

Merlin just laughs and pulls him in close again, kisses the top of his head. "Later," he promises. Gwaine gingerly wriggles about a little, until he has his face pressed to Merlin's chest.

" _God_."

Merlin laughs again and brushes Gwaine's hair away from his face. "My thoughts exactly."

He always sounds so _happy_ afterwards; Gwaine loves that. With _later_ a pleasant possibility to keep in mind, Gwaine closes his eyes and relaxes into Merlin's hold. He has no desire to sleep, none to move. Luckily neither is necessary so he just stays, lets himself drift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted at LJ [here](http://leashy-bebes.livejournal.com/308180.html)


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